


I Once Was Lost

by enigmaticblue



Series: Grace 'Verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-02
Updated: 2011-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calling Cas is the last thing Dean wants to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Once Was Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt "accidents"

By the time ten o’clock comes and goes, Dean has cleaned his gun twice, and he’s called Sam three times. To keep his mind off the passing time, Dean pulls out the whetting stone and oil and begins to sharpen his knife. He’ll give Sam another hour before he starts to panic.

 

An hour later, when Sam still hasn’t called, Dean puts his knife away and tries to call Sam again, but it goes straight to voicemail, and Dean doesn’t bother leaving another message.

 

Dean gets up, pacing the room, rubbing his hands over his face. He stops and grabs the phone book, and dials the number for the local hospital.

 

“I need to know if you’ve had any accident victims brought in over the last few hours,” he says. “My brother hasn’t checked in, and he isn’t answering his phone. He’s about 30, over 6 feet tall, with longer hair.”

 

“There hasn’t been anyone brought in matching that description,” the receptionist replies, sounding bored.

 

“Okay, thanks,” Dean says, relieved and disappointed.

 

Dean calls the sheriff’s office next, giving the same general description of Sam. “You can’t file a missing persons report unless he’s been gone for more than 24 hours,” the deputy informs him.

 

“I don’t want to file a report,” Dean says impatiently. “He just has a tendency to get into trouble, and I want to be sure he’s okay.”

 

“We don’t have anybody here matching his description,” the deputy says.

 

Dean hangs up and curses. He had dropped Sam off at the local library mid-afternoon to do some research, while Dean interviewed family members of the two missing kids. Dean knows the library closed at 5 pm, which means that Sam is about six hours overdue now. Dean has the car, so Sam can’t have gone too far, and it’s not like Sam to disappear, not anymore. Dean’s instincts are telling him that something has gone seriously wrong.

 

Now that he’s struck out with the hospital and the sheriff, Dean’s left with jack shit, and only one person he can call who might be able to get a line on Sam.

 

Dean keeps pacing across the burnt-orange carpet, his hands clenching and unclenching until he suddenly stops, takes a deep breath, and calls Bobby.

 

“What is it this time?” Bobby asked, his voice rough with sleep.

 

“I can’t find Sam. He hasn’t checked in, and he’s not answering his phone,” Dean replies. “I need you to call Cas.”

 

Bobby snorts. “I’m not a go-between for you and your boyfriend, Dean.”

 

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Dean protests.

 

“Then stop acting like you’re in the middle of a lover’s quarrel,” Bobby advises. “Call him yourself.”

 

Dean sighs. He’d expected that answer. “I don’t have his phone number.”

 

“Grab a pen, boy.”

 

Bobby rattles off the phone number so quickly that Dean knows he’s got it memorized, which says something for how often Bobby calls Cas.

 

But then, Dean knows that Bobby and Sam don’t have the problems with Cas he does.

 

“Thanks, Bobby.”

 

“Let me know when you find that brother of yours,” Bobby replied. “But call in the morning.”

 

The phone goes dead, and Dean stares at the number in his hand. Calling Cas is the last thing Dean wants to do, but Cas is the only person who might be able to tell Dean where Sam is.

 

Concern for Sam wins out over stubborn pride, though; he dials the number, anxiety making his palms sweaty.

 

The phone rings, and just about when Dean thinks Cas isn’t going to answer, Cas picks up. His sleepy hello makes Dean’s stomach twist, and Dean takes a deep breath. “Cas.”

 

“Dean?” Cas asks, a note of incredulity in his voice.

 

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah, it’s me.”

 

There’s a long, awkward pause, and Cas asks, “What happened to Sam?”

 

“How did you—”

 

“You wouldn’t be calling me if something hadn’t happened to Sam,” Cas says wearily, cutting Dean off. “What is it?”

 

“I don’t know,” Dean says a little desperately, unable to argue with Cas’ logic. “Sam went to do some research, and he hasn’t checked in. He’s not answering his phone, and I can’t find him.”

 

Cas sighs. “Let me put you on speaker phone. This might take a few minutes.”

 

Dean wants to protest that Sam might not have a few minutes, but he holds his tongue. He knows Sam has been visiting Cas, and based on comments Sam has let slip, they’re pretty close. Cas isn’t going to dick him around.

 

Dean paces some more, the phone glued to his ear, hearing nothing but the rustling of cloth on the other end of the line. He suddenly wishes he could see Cas, or that he’d been around when Cas had one of his visions in the past. Dean wishes he knew what went on while Cas had his visions.

 

For the first time in two years, Dean just _really_ wants to see Cas.

 

“Okay,” Cas says, the speakerphone making his voice distant and tinny. “Sam was in an accident. He went to investigate an old house, and he fell through the floorboards. I think his leg is broken.”

 

“Dammit, Sammy,” Dean mutters. “Do you know where the house is?”

 

“It’s on the east side of town,” Cas replies. “Near a McDonald’s. The house number is 5961.”

 

“Great,” Dean says.

 

“Dean, have Sam call me when he can.”

 

Dean feels a pang at the request. “I’ll call you when I get Sam squared away,” Dean promises.

 

“Thank you,” Cas says quietly, sincerely, and then he ends the call, sparing Dean from having to think of anything else to say.

 

Dean tucks his phone into his pocket and takes a deep breath. His first contact with Cas in more than a year had been easier than Dean expected.

 

He grabs his keys and heads out, grateful that the town isn’t very big, and that they’d stopped for breakfast at that very McDonald’s the day before. The house is dilapidated, the yard overgrown and the fading paint peeling. Dean spares a moment to grab the coil of rope from his trunk, tucking his favorite pistol into the back of his pants.

 

The porch creaks ominously under Dean’s boots, and Dean can hear the wood crack just a bit. When he touches the doorjamb, it crumbles under his fingers.

 

“Dry rot,” Dean mumbles and pushes the door open. “Sam! Sammy!”

 

There’s no answer he can hear, and Dean moves cautiously through the house, testing each step, knowing he won’t do Sam much good if he falls through the floor, too. He finds a Sam-sized hole in the kitchen floor, near the door to the basement.

 

“Sammy!” Dean calls again, hearing the panic in his own voice. He tells himself that Sam is okay, that Cas would have known if Sam had sustained injuries more serious than a broken leg.

 

“Dean? Is that you?” Sam calls faintly.

 

“Yeah, it’s me!” Dean shouts, relief making his voice rough. “Where the hell is your phone?”

 

“It broke when I fell,” Sam says. “My leg—it’s a pretty bad break.”

 

“Cas said you’d broken it,” Dean replies. “I’m coming down.”

 

“The stairs are in bad shape,” Sam says, warning him off.

 

“Okay, I’ll going to send a rope down and haul you up,” Dean replies. “Do you think you can manage to hang on?”

 

“If it gets me out of here, I’ll manage.”

 

Hauling Sam up is just as hard on both of them as Dean expects. By the time Sam is sprawled on the floor, sweaty and panting, Dean has rope burns on both palms, and his arms and shoulders burn with the strain. He summons his remaining strength and pulls Sam up, offering support so that Sam can hop out to the car on his good leg.

 

“So, you called Cas,” Sam says on the drive to the hospital, smirking in spite of the pain he’s in.

 

“I didn’t know how else to find you,” Dean replies. “What was I supposed to do?”

 

Sam shrugs. “I wondered what it would take to get you two talking again.”

 

“We’re not really _talking_ ,” Dean replies. “He had a vision and gave me the information.”

 

“Then you want me to call him and let him know you found me?”

 

“I told him I’d do it.” Dean glares at him. “And don’t say it.”

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Sam says, but he’s still wearing that same smirk.

 

Dean lets it go, thinking that Sam could probably use a distraction from his pain anyway.

 

He gets Sam checked into the hospital without any trouble, handing over one of their fake credit cards to secure payment. Dean stays in the waiting room, filling out forms, while they X-ray Sam’s leg.

 

Dean tries not to think about how long Sam might have been in that basement if Cas hadn’t been able to see what had happened, or if Dean hadn’t swallowed his pride and made the call. If not for Cas, Dean thinks grimly, he might not have found Sam in time. He has Cas to thank for Sam’s life.

 

Maybe Dean had walked away after Cas’ betrayal, but that doesn’t mean the connection between them is broken. It certainly doesn’t mean that Dean doesn’t miss his friend.

 

Dean isn’t a fool; he knows that Cas has provided valuable intel in the last couple of years. Any time Sam has produced an answer that hadn’t been otherwise obvious or available, or had passed on a warning about the future, that information had come from Cas.

 

Sam has stopped trying to get Dean to call or visit Cas by now, but Dean is starting to think that maybe it’s time to let bygones be bygones. And if nothing else, Dean has a promise to keep.

 

He calls Cas.

 

“How is he?” Cas asks immediately.

 

“It’s a bad break, and they’re X-raying his leg now,” Dean replies. “Thanks for the assist.”

 

“Sam is my friend,” Cas replies simply. “How could I do anything else?”

 

Dean eases back into the hard plastic seat, wiping his free hand on his jeans. “Yeah, still. Thanks.” Before Dean can think better of it, he adds, “Hey, once we finish this job, we’ll probably end up at Bobby’s for a while until Sam heals. Maybe we could stop by while we’re in town.”

 

Cas draws in a sharp breath that Dean can hear, and Dean doesn’t quite know how to interpret the silence that follows. “I’d like that,” Cas finally says, his tone thick with emotion.

 

“Okay. We’ll give you a call before we drop by,” Dean says. “I should, uh, go check on Sam. He’s probably finished with the scan now, and I want to talk to the doctor.”

 

“Yes, of course,” Cas replies. “Thanks for calling, Dean.”

 

Hearing his name on Cas’ lips again twists Dean up inside. “Yeah. See you,” he says shortly and hangs up, unable to think of a graceful way to end the conversation.

 

Sam is in a curtained-off cubicle in the ER, stretched out on a gurney. Judging by the slightly goofy grin on his face, the doctor has already given him something for the pain. “How are you feeling?” Dean asks.

 

Sam grunts. “They’re going to set my leg. I don’t need surgery.”

 

“Good thing,” Dean says and turns to the doctor. “Is there any way you can give him a pink cast?”

 

The doctor chuckles. “I’m afraid that’s entirely up to your brother.”

 

“White will be fine,” Sam says. “And don’t let him talk you into anything else.”

 

Dean sticks around while the doctor sets Sam’s leg. Sam passes out briefly, but he comes back around almost immediately. “You should go get a cup of coffee,” Sam says. “You can call Cas while we wait for the plaster to dry.”

 

“I already called Cas,” Dean replies. “But I could use the coffee.”

 

He hits up the vending machine and goes outside to walk around the hospital, feeling jittery from leftover adrenalin, both from rescuing Sam and talking to Cas.

 

Dean finishes his coffee and throws the cup away, heading back inside. “You ready to get out of here?” he asks Sam.

 

“More than,” Sam says.

 

Sam allows the orderly to wheel him out to the Impala, the crutches lying across his lap. Between Dean and the orderly, they manage to load Sam in the car without too much trouble.

 

“Did you call Cas?” Sam asks.

 

“Yeah, I called him. I told you, remember?” Dean says.

 

“When?” Sam asks, his tone a little vague.

 

“While you were getting your leg set,” Dean replies. “Which is probably why I have to repeat myself. Anyway, I told him we’d stop by when we’re in town.”

 

Sam’s grin widens. “Getting back together with your boyfriend?”

 

Sam’s near miss is still paramount in Dean’s mind, so he doesn’t punch his brother even though he wants to. “I just figured you might want to see him, and you’re not going to be driving any time soon.”

 

Sam stares at the cast on his right leg balefully. “I guess not.”

 

“So, what was at that house that made you check it out?”

 

Sam shrugs. “There was a family murdered there twenty years ago, and no one’s lived there since. I thought I’d check it out, but there wasn’t any sign of a haunting on the EMF.”

 

“And you didn’t call me before you went to investigate?” Dean demands. “You’re lucky Cas could tell me where you were. That was a fucking stupid stunt.”

 

“It was an _accident_ ,” Sam replies with a hint of a whine. “Besides, it’s about time you talked to Cas.”

 

Dean shoots Sam a dirty look, but he doesn’t protest. There’s probably only one thing in the world that could have forced him to talk to Cas again: Sam being in danger, or somehow lost, and Cas’ visions Dean’s only chance to save him.

 

Dean sighs. “Yeah, well, it might be nice to see where all your information is coming from.”

 

“Good,” Sam says cheerfully enough. “I hate being in the middle.”

 

Dean pulls up in front of the motel and changes the subject. “You need to go to bed.”

 

“I’d rather take a shower,” Sam protests.

 

Dean rolls his eyes. “You’re going to fall over before you get through. Go to bed, and I’ll help you cover your cast and take a shower tomorrow morning.”

 

Sam is definitely pouting now, but Dean ignores him, keeping an anxious eye on Sam as he brushes his teeth and cleans up a bit at the bathroom sink. Dean doesn’t relax until he’s sprawled on the bed, snoring loudly.

 

Dean stares up at the ceiling, the room lit only by the streetlights in the parking lot. He folds his hands behind his head and then closes his eyes. For the first time, Dean allows himself to imagine what it would be like for the whole world to be dark, to never be able to see again.

 

He lets himself remember the panic in Cas’ wide blue eyes when he’d woken up in the hospital, blind and so terrified the doctors had to sedate him.

 

And for the first time, Dean regrets walking away.


End file.
